


Debts and Crossfire

by fandomoniumquintobatch



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Father-Son Relationship, Gang Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Rescue, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 22:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20033623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomoniumquintobatch/pseuds/fandomoniumquintobatch
Summary: Set in the year 1887. Young Arthur and Hosea set up camp after a day of hunting. When Arthur decides to ride out on his own, disaster and drama unfold. (Pre-Red Dead 2; rated T for violence and language.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy! I’m not sure how long this story will be, but it does contain some physical torture, so if you are in anyway sensitive to that subject, please read at your own risk! Also, this story does include minimal Spanish speaking that is not translated. 
> 
> Enjoy! 😊

Chapter 1: The Art of the Deal

1887

The air hung dead under a clear, starlit sky. Two men sat in silence around a campfire they had pulled together in about 20 minutes. They had chosen to make camp right off the side of a well worn path so as to deter any ravenous animals that would otherwise rip them to pieces. The pair didn’t mind the silence. The older man, with wise brown eyes and a slim frame poured freshly brewed coffee into his tin cup. He held the cup between his palms, watching the steam evaporate before him. He glanced over at the younger man, who was removing his worn hat revealing a head of dirty blonde locks. In need of a haircut, the young man brushed a strand of it out of his wildly ocean-like eyes,

“Arthur,” the elder of the two broke the silence, almost jolting the younger, “I picked up something in town the other day.” His accent was nearly untraceable, New York perhaps, definitely something out of the North. He reached into the satchel that lay at his side, pulling out what looked like a book. The mahogany leather cover shined in the firelight. 

Arthur squinted, trying to get a better look at it, “I saw this in that little shop as I was heading to the station with Bessie in Manzanita Post. She thought you’d love this.” He paused briefly, thinking, 

“So if you don’t love it, it’s her fault.” He practically tossed the book into Arthur’s large hands. Arthur first looked over the cover. It had no title, but had the outline of a stag imprinted into the surface. He then flipped through the pages, finding not words, but emptiness. A sketch book. Arthur stroked the stubble around his lips trying to hide just how much he was smiling. 

The older man was too mentally quick to be fooled. He continued to observe, sipping his black coffee and grinning.

“Hosea…” Arthur gave up trying to put on his tough guy act. He finally met his elders eyes. Hosea could see exactly what Arthur felt by looking at his face. It had always been that way, even from the first moments they had spent together when Arthur was nothing more than a child. No matter how hard Arthur tried to fool him, Hosea was always one step forward. 

Arthur shook his head, knowing that he didn’t need to say anything more. He removed the satchel hanging over his shoulder and gingerly placed the book inside. He set the satchel down right beside him, making sure to treat it delicately despite his own rough nature,

“How’d you know I needed a new one?” Arthur asked looking back at the older man.

“Intuition.” Hosea piped, lighting a cigarette. Arthur rumbled a snicker,

“Sure.” He replied plainly, not buying the response.

“Alright, don’t tell her I told you this, but Bessie’s been sneaking peeks at your old one every time you pass out. She damn near threw a fit when she saw it was empty. Every time she looks in there all she can say is ‘that boy will make an artist of himself yet! Forget robbin’ we can just sell one of his drawings!” 

The two laughed heartily at Hosea’s impression,

“I knew she were doin’ it!” Arthur stated when the laughter began to die down, “She may be a master of words, but a thief she is not.”

Hosea nodded in agreement. The two went silent again for a brief moment before Hosea spoke up, “I hope Mary didn’t mind me stealin’ you away like this on your birthday.”

“She don’t even know it’s today.” Arthur stated bluntly, pouring himself a cup of coffee,

“Really?” Hosea asked, not entirely surprised,

“You know how I am about it. ‘S not a big deal. I’d forget myself if it weren’t for you reminding me every year.” Arthur sipped the drink, recoiling when the extra hot liquid hit his tongue. Again there was silence. Nothing but the sound of wind moving the tree branches behind them, and crickets by the distant pond.

“You know,” Hosea started. He was always a master at ice breaking, “it seems like only yesterday you were that raggedy little fella we found wandering the streets in Amarillo.”

“Stop.” Arthur waved him off and his cheeks flushed but Hosea couldn’t see it through the fire glow. 

“Now look at’cha,” Hosea continued on, Hell bent on embarrassing the burly man next to him, “Now you’re a raggedy big fella.” Hosea slapped a hand on Arthur’s broad shoulder and chuckled to himself. Arthur half heartedly bellowed along, “24….my my, you get much older and you’ll have caught up to me.” 

Hosea looked Arthur over for a brief moment. It really did amaze him how fast time flew. This rugged, mountain of a man was once that wild eyed, malnourished child he and his best friend Dutch had taken in years ago. Hosea couldn’t quite recall how long it had been,

“When was that, when we found you? Seven years?” Hosea racked his brain, staring into the fire,

“Nine. I was almost 15.” Arthur replied, standing and putting his hat back on. Hosea was eclipsed by his shadow, and his gaze into the fire was broken,

“Where are you off to?” 

“I thought I saw some tobacco back up over that hill where we came from, through some of that greenery. Last I checked we was almost out of it, right?”

“I suppose. Need me to tag along?” 

“What, you think I can’t handle myself?” Arthur smirked from under his hat, his eyes glinting from the flames. Hosea furrowed his brow. The night was far from young at that point, and though Arthur was a well versed survivalist, that didn’t stop Hosea from worrying. Arthur, and John, the teenager back at camp they had picked up two years ago, were like sons to him. He and Bessie couldn’t have children of their own, so they treated the pair like they were theirs. Dutch did too, but he made it a point to be the strict and tough one of the parental group.

“Of course you can handle yourself, but I’ve heard about quite a bit of gang activity happening just south of here in Stillwater. Can’t remember the name of ‘em, some group up from Mexico. Been doin a lot of killin’ from what I hear.”

“I’ll be fine. Won’t be more than half an hour, and I’ll be takin’ this in case of trouble.” Arthur presented his pistol to Hosea from his holster. He then grabbed up his satchel and turned to mount his horse, a young American thoroughbred he had just purchased the day before as a gift to himself. His last few horses were 2nd work horses from Dutch or Hosea, so he thought it time to get himself his own,

“You named that horse yet?” Hosea asked, lighting another cigarette. Arthur hoisted himself on to his girls back,

“I was thinking Boadicea.”

“Ahhh…” Hosea grinned between drags, “You remember Dutch trying to get you to read about her early on?”

“Course. Worst two hours of my life, but I picked it up again a few months back and actually got some enjoyment out of it.” Arthur clicked the sides of Boadicea with his heels, sending her into a trot up the path. Hosea watched them leave with an odd feeling in his gut, 

“Watch your back Arthur.”

Arthur waved at Hosea without breaking his concentration from the path ahead. He gently patted Boadicea’s neck,

“That’s my girl.” He cooed. He continued to ride a little less than a mile, taking in the sights of an unfamiliar territory. This had been his life for sometime with Dutch and Hosea; moving, settling, trouble, moving, settling, trouble, repeat. Arthur didn’t mind. In fact, he liked it. He couldn’t remember a time before thieving and scamming. He had to admit though, it was nice in their current settlement. It had everything they needed, plus it was real close to where the girl he was sweet on lived. Mary would sneak out of her daddy’s house most nights and meet Arthur behind the saloon in town. The two would ride together on Arthur’s horse for hours, just talking and laughing.

Boadicea’s ears pricked to the left and she slowed slightly, 

“What is it girl?” Arthur gently rubbed her neck. He heard the brush rustling, 

“You’re alright girl, just a little animal.” The horse calmed under his touch, and he tapped her with his spurs to move her along. They reached the area Arthur thought he had seen the tobacco. He dismounted and grabbed Boadicea’s reins, leading her past a thicket of trees and bushes. A few feet in, he stopped and tied the horses reins around a small elm tree,

“Don’t want you spookin’ n’ runnin’ off.” Arthur whispered to her, pulling an apple from his satchel and placing it under her nose. Her velvet lips tickled his palm as she took it. She let out a satisfied bray as he turned his back. He grinned, already smitten with her. 

He continued to trudge through the forest, his eyes darting from one plant to another until he finally spotted what he came for,

“There ya are.” He grumbled. His voice was gravelly from cigarettes and lack of sleep, but still youthful. He bent down to pull the small plant with purple flowers out of the ground. It pulled up with ease under his firm grasp. He opened his satchel and placed it inside. Arthur glanced around hoping to spot more. The moonlight was strong coming through the treetops and pooled in puddle like shapes on the floor of the woods. 

Arthur roamed a few feet further, and stumbled across a few more of the sweet smelling plant. He kneeled next to them, pulling out the first, same as before. He grasped the second with both of his bare hands. 

A distinct click of a revolver’s hammer came from right behind his head. Immediately after, he felt the muzzle pressed into the back of his skull. He froze, hands still grasping the stalk,

“I don’t got any money.” He said in an even and calm tone as he lifted his empty hands in the air. He breathed deeply through his mouth. 

“Don’t want your money compadres.” A thick Hispanic accent whispered in his ear. Arthur could hear the smile on his face, and smell the rum on his breath. Three other men came into view from in front of Arthur and he could hear more footsteps from behind. From what he could tell, they were all Hispanic. It was obviously the gang Hosea had mentioned. Arthur could feel sweat begin to collect on his forehead.

A firm pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and ripped him to his feet. The men forced Arthur’s arms behind his back and tightly bound them with rope. The owner of the revolver stood in front of him. He was tall, and thin with a thick horseshoe Moustache plastered on his face. His smile was that of the devil. He had several missing teeth, and the ones he had were crooked. His eyes were bloodshot with Irises as black as tar and a yellowed tint around the edges from years of alcohol. He lowered his gun, chuckling under his breath,

“Parece que estamos tratando con un niño.” 

Arthur held his breath as the group laughed at whatever the man had said. Others around him chattered in Spanish. Arthur assumed the man with the gun was their leader. The man stepped closer to Arthur, stealing the hat off of his head and plopping it on to his own. Arthur instinctively lunged forward but was ripped back. The leader smirked,

“Fiesty. Easy niño. We know you run with that bastard Van Der Linde, and we just want to talk.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed. He racked his mind for what business this man would have with Dutch,

“What kind of talk?” 

“Just a little chat. de hombre a hombre.” 

Arthur’s temper was beginning to fester.

“Look, I don’t speak Spanish. If you’re trying to get something from me, say it straight.” 

The man’s smile fell. In an instant Arthur felt the sting of a backhand connecting with his cheek. He could taste the metallic flavor of blood on his gums. The crowd hooted and hollered around them. Arthur’s anger only grew. Before he could think clearly, he spat the blood in his mouth back at the man in front of him. One of the other men who held Arthur’s shoulders struck him with his elbow, and forced his body to the dirt. Arthur gasped as a boot pressed his cheek deeper into the ground, and a separate knee dug into his upper back.

The head of the group wiped the spit from his cheek, then knelt down to look Arthur in the eye,

“You do that again, and I’ll have Marcos cut your tongue from your throat.” He stood, “Recógelo. Vamonos.”

Arthur was dragged upwards to his feet, then violently forced to walk. The group practically dragged Arthur back through the woods until they reached the spot near the road where Boadicea was tied. She began to whinny as they approached, clearly getting a little spooked.

“Nice horse.” The man with a devil smile said back at Arthur. He began to untie her. She continued to be riled. Arthur started to feel anxious at the thought of what they may do to her if she didn’t calm down.

“Shhhhhhh girl, it’s alright.” Arthur soothed from where he was held. She nickered back at him and began to settle. 

A new face in the group took hold of her reins. Arthur looked him over. He noticed in what light there was that this man was much younger than the others, maybe younger than Arthur himself. His jaw was covered in dark and patchy stubble along with his upper lip and he had thick long hair tied back,

“Buena niña. Hermosa chica.” The young man cooed as he fed Boadicea an oatcake from his pocket. Arthur could see his clothes were in tatters and he had no shoes. The leader of their gang bumped into him purposefully sending his small frame lurching forward. He accidentally ran into Boadicea, spooking her,

“Watch it!” The leader spoke with a sickening smile. The young man’s grip on Boadicea’s reins loosened, and she bolted towards the path ahead. Arthur’s heart sank a little as she went out of view. 

The leader turned back to the young man and slapped him harder than he had hit Arthur earlier,

“Useless.” The boss kicked the dirt towards him as the young man hit the ground. He stayed laying there until his boss had moved on. The men pushing Arthur along continued more harshly as they passed the kid on the ground. Arthur protested, using his strong legs to force them backwards. In the midst of the struggle Arthur managed to catch the young man’s attention from where he lay,

“You ok?” He grunted as multiple hands pressed into his back. The man simply looked up at him with a blank expression. Arthur watched him stand slowly and dust himself off,

“He doesn’t speak any English.” Arthur wasn’t aware that the leader had also noticed the struggle and had silently slithered over to them. The pressing hands ceased on Arthur’s back, allowing captor and captive to speak,

“You treat the rest a’ your gang like that?” Arthur spat with an unsuppressed venom.

“He’s not a part of this family. He’s a leech.” The leader shot back with the same intensity, “Some kid on the run from Mexico. We caught him sneaking into our supplies. I was kind and told him we’d feed him a hot meal if he worked. He seems to be incapable of that these days.”

“So he’s a slave.” Arthur said bluntly, looking back at the kid, who seemed to be holding up ok,

“Call it whatever you want, but worry about yourself from now on. You’re in a much worse position.”

The leader continued to head towards the path, and Arthur was dragged along amongst the large group. The bounds on his hands had rubbed his skin raw from the altercation, and the violent pressing and shoving continued to make the stinging more unbearable.

Back at the small camp, Hosea rubbed his tired eyes. The firelight was beginning to fade. The pit in Hosea's stomach never ceased after Arthur left, and it only grew as he checked his silver pocket watch. It had been a little over 50 minutes since Arthur had gone, which seemed 20 minutes too long. Hosea watched up the path intently, waiting for any sign of him. 

A sound from that direction peaked his interest and he stood, trying to get a better view. It was definitely galloping. No one would be riding past at this time of night, so it had to be Arthur, he thought. 

It was indeed Arthur’s new horse, but no Arthur. Hosea’s heart fell into his gut. Boadicea seemed to not be slowing, so Hosea cut off her path and lifted his hands to steady her,

“Easy, easy girl!” Boadicea’s front hooves came off the ground as she loudly brayed,

“Shhhh! It’s alright now girl! Steady. That’s it.” Hosea lulled her into a less agitated state. He grabbed up her reins and lead her to the camp where he tied her next to his own horse, Silver Dollar.

He quickly unhitched his horse, lit a lantern, and mounted up. He gave Silver Dollar a sturdy tap on his sides along with a small, “Hyah.” sending him into a quick gallop up the path. 

It was mere minutes before Hosea spotted a large group of men coming his way. They held no lanterns or lights of any kind, and their movements were silent, except for the scuffling of spurs and boots. The group stopped once they saw Hosea’s light.

Hosea slowed Silver Dollar to a halt in front of them. He scanned the group of at least 12 men,

“Evening gentleman.” Hosea said tentatively with a tip of his hat, “ I’m looking for a friend of mine. His Horse showed up at our camp without him, and I’m getting a little worried.”

“You should be more than a little worried Mr. Mathews.” The man in the front of the group spoke with a hint of a mischievous grin. Hosea couldn’t see his eyes from under the hat he wore which he instantly recognized as Arthur’s,

“You know me?” Hosea asked, brows furrowed. He studied the man’s face, trying to decide if he seemed familiar. He couldn’t place his devilish looks,

“Of course I know you! You and Dutch stole from me.” 

Hosea shook his head, utterly confused, “There must be a mistake. I don’t know who you are. I’ve never seen you in my life.” Hosea observed the small mob in front of him, searching for Arthur, “What I do know is that you have seen my friend, and I’d just like to know where he is.”

The man simply snickered, “trae el blanco!” He said without taking his eyes from Hosea who still sat atop his Turkoman. 

Hosea saw the group splitting, making way for something coming past. His breath hitched when two men forced his boy next to the gang leader. Arthur grunted at the impact. Hosea leapt from his horse and stepped toward Arthur. The leader intercepted, coming between the two. Arthur read Hosea’s fretful expression, 

“I’m fine.” Arthur nodded at his friend,

“I told you I should have come with you.” Hosea felt completely helpless.

Despite the dire situation Arthur rolled his eyes, “Now’s probably not the best time for chastising.”

The man between them cleared his throat, catching their attention, “I was hoping Dutch would be here so I could talk to him directly, but you’ll do.”

“Please let my friend go. He’s got no part in whatever issue you have with us.” Hosea pleaded, glancing a Arthur, 

“He was at the bank heist with you. I’d say that’s taking part.”

“The bank heist?” Hosea was completely caught off guard, “Who are you? What do you know about that?” 

“I’m Miguel Chavez.” The man said knowing neither of the Americans would recognize it.

Hosea’s confusion continued as he tried to put the pieces together. Arthur eyed his captor, doing the same,

“Does Dutch tell you nothing?” Miguel gawked, “Did you really expect to have no repercussions after making off with $5,000 dollars? $5,000 dollars that was mine for the taking until your little trio swooped in and stole it from under my nose?” The man remained unsettlingly calm as he spoke.

Hosea and Arthur stared in silence, completely in the dark,

“Tell me this. Who tipped you off on the heist?”

Hosea thought back to the events that lead up to their first bank robbery a few months ago. He couldn’t recall the answer to the question,

“All Dutch said was that he had a tip.”

It was clear that Miguel was beginning to get frustrated,

“Well allow me to clear a few things up.” Miguel said, teeth gritting, “A woman named Annabel is the one who gave you the information.” 

Arthur and Hosea looked at each other with a knowing glance which Miguel noticed,

“Yes, that Annabel. The whore living at your camp. Before she went running to Dutch, she came running to me. I fed, sheltered, and gave her everything she wanted. And how does she repay me? By running off with another man and taking our heist plans with her.” 

Miguel stepped back putting his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. He could feel Arthur’s body tense under his touch. This pleased him. He loved to be feared. It gave him a sense of power and control. He smiled more wildly than ever,

“Dutch took my woman, and my money, and I want them back. And until that happens, I’ll be holding on to… what’s your name son?” Miguel’s hot breath hit Arthur’s ear. Everyone stood still. 

Arthur’s blood was boiling over the situation. He was young, but he was certainly not going to be bullied by this snake. He refused to respond.

After a few silent moments Miguel’s patience ran out. He raked his hand through the hair on the back of Arthur’s head and yanked as hard as he could. Arthur’s knees nearly buckled and he couldn’t stop himself from crying out in pain. He managed to stay upright just barely. His lips tightened, and his nostrils flared as pain and anger coursed through his veins,

“I said, what’s your name?” 

Again there was nothing but the sounds of Arthur’s heavy breathing. Hosea watched in horror as Miguel’s face contorted into one of fury, and his fingers brushed a knife that hung from his belt,

“His name’s Arthur!” Hosea blurted in fear of what Miguel might do. 

“I didn’t ask you old man. I want to hear him say it. Be proud of who you are boy! Tell us who you are!” Miguel yelled in Arthur’s ear.

The humiliation tactic Miguel was using riled his group. They began to mutter and laugh at their hostage. Miguel’s fist clenched tighter, sending another wave of pain down Arthur’s neck,

“Don’t be a fool son, just give him what he wants.” Hosea sounded defeated, his eyes meeting Arthur’s. Arthur could see that it was a useless fight,

“Arthur.” He said, barely audible,

“escuchaste eso chicos?!” Miguel shouted, rallying his men. Arthur and Hosea heard a collective,

“No!”

“Looks like my boys couldn’t hear that.” Miguel gave Arthur’s hair another vicious tug,

Arthur squeezed his eyes tightly to stop them from watering, “Arthur!” He groaned,

“Stop this!” Hosea yelled over the crowd. They ignored him,

“Last name por favor!” Miguel cheered and ripped Arthur’s head back once more,

“Morgan! Arthur Morgan!” 

Miguel released his grip on Arthur and he and his posse laughed. Arthur’s mind spun as he gingerly lulled his head forward. His body shook with frustration and pain. He wished he could drop to his knees but his pride wouldn’t allow it,

“So nice to finally be introduced Mr. Morgan!” Miguel put his hands back on Arthur’s shoulders, noticing him flinch under his grip. He beamed at Hosea,

“As I was saying, Arthur here is going to stay with us until Dutch himself hands over $5,000 and Annabel.” Miguel removed one of his skeletal hands from Arthur’s shoulder and hooked his fingers on the underside of his chin, jerking it upward towards Hosea, “You can have him back once my demands are met.”

“We don’t have the money. After the job we gave a lot of it away to orphanages and veterans.” Hosea searched his mind for another way out of this mess. Miguel and a few of his boys chuckled at Hosea. The chuckle grew into a loud laugh,

“él dice que la pandilla le dio el dinero a la caridad!” He translated for some of his gang. Everyone joined in the hysterics,

“Don’t lie to me Gringo!” Miguel snorted, the laughter dying down,

“It’s the truth!” Hosea responded defensively, “Not all of us thieves are murderous and evil.” Hosea instantly regretted the jab. Miguel’s toothy grin fell,

“True or not, I expect $5,000. If I don’t get what I want,” Miguel removed his knife from his belt, pressing the blade to Arthur’s throat. Hosea lifted his hands, trying to ease the preditorial man,

“Young Arthur here will find himself face down in the dirt for a nice long sleep.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Hosea said, careful not to say the wrong thing, “Where should I direct these demands once they’re procured?” 

“Just west of Stillwater, on the east side of Lake McMurtry.”

“And do we have a time constraint?” Hosea asked hesitantly. 

Miguel looked thoughtful for a moment, a faint trace of a smile returning to his lips. He glanced at the side of Arthur’s face, and his smile curled upwards. He met Hosea’s eyes with an obvious glint behind his own. He removed the knife from Arthur’s neck and plunged it up to the hilt into Arthur’s side. 

A pain induced scream escaped Arthur’s lungs. His knees finally gave way to his weight crashing to the forest floor. He did his best to stay upright without the use of his hands which were still tied behind him,

“Arthur!” Hosea sprung forward, joining Arthur on the ground. Miguel did not try to stop him. His gang cheered from behind, some of them spitting and kicking dirt at them,

“I’d say you’ve got three days or less before he bleeds out or dies of infection.”

Hosea helped keep Arthur upright, trying to look at the wound. The knife was still jammed in Arthur’s skin, ruby red blood pooling under his light grey shirt. Arthur’s breathing was shaky, but he took deep exhales to control the throbbing. Between breaths, Arthur couldn’t control the guttural grunts and moans coming from his mouth. 

Arthur grew up with an abusive outlaw father, and joined Dutch’s company when he was 15, so he was no stranger to pain; but this was different. In his life he had been slashed, punched, slapped, kicked, and even grazed by a bullet, but this was a promise of death. The man who loomed over him had every intention of watching Arthur experience a slow and painful end.

The thought of death sent young Arthur’s mind into a spiral, and he started to panic for the first time in years. He felt like a child again which was maddening to him. His eyes felt heavy, but he was afraid to close them. He forced himself to stare into Hosea’s eyes. They were something constant and familiar, and knowing Hosea was there brought him a little comfort. He could see Hosea’s mouth moving but he couldn’t hear what he was saying. 

Arthur’s mind raced despite him trying to stop it. He pictured Mary in her favorite purple dress, and the ring he had tucked away in his satchel that he’d been saving for her someday. He saw Dutch, teaching him how to read, Hosea teaching him how to fish, Bessie watching him draw around the fire, and little John following him all over camp, doing whatever he did.

The task set for his family of outlaws was nearly impossible and he knew it.

Hosea couldn’t see any of what Arthur was thinking in his eyes this time. All he could see was their glazed over, unblinking silence,

“Arthur?” Hosea tried to stir him out of his daze. Arthur’s body began to slump under Hosea’s touch. He worked harder to keep Arthur propped up. One of his hands accidentally grazed Arthur’s wound which sent a jolt through his body. Hosea noticed his own hand was now dripping with Arthur’s blood. Hosea patted Arthur’s cheek as his eyelids began to flutter and his jaw went slack,

“No, no, no, Arthur. Stay with me my boy.” 

Arthur heard what Hosea said, but he sounded a million miles away. Arthur fought the sinking feeling inside of him, and managed to see Hosea clearly for a fleeting moment,

“Arthur, Dutch and I are going to come get you. I promise son.” Hosea enunciated as best he could. Hosea watched the small nodding of Arthur’s head as he closed his eyes. Hosea felt the full weight of Arthur’s body fall into him. Another pair of hands helped him as he gently lowered Arthur onto his uninjured side. Hosea barely acknowledged the young man from Miguel’s gang kneeling beside him.

Miguel shook his head, standing over the three of them, “I’ll try my best to keep him alive for three days.” He said with a sarcastic air of sadness, “Time is wasting, you best run back to Dutch.” 

Hosea reluctantly stood, noticing the blood stains on his own vest and hands. He stared down Miguel with an overwhelming hatred, then swiftly mounted Silver Dollar. The gang watched Hosea fiercely ride down the path and disappear into the darkness,

“¡Recógelo!” Miguel shouted with a celebratory grin. He looked at the young man, still kneeling by Arthur’s side, “conseguir los caballos.”


	2. “Transports and Plans”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hosea fills in the gang on what has happened, and Arthur struggles to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has subtitles included for the Spanish speaking! 
> 
> It’s also a little shorter, but the next will be pretty long
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 2

“Transports and Plans”

Hosea pushed Silver Dollar faster than he’d ever pushed a horse. His gallops were steady and strong, kicking up a heavy trail of dust behind them. Hosea was leaned so far forward in his saddle it looked as though he wasn’t planted in the seat at all. He continued to give the horse quiet words of encouragement in hopes he could instill just a little more speed into his hooves.

He was going so fast he almost missed the final turn in to camp. He yanked the reins and the horse nearly skidded into a small river bank,

“Sorry boy! Can’t slow now!” 

The horse gave a small huff in response. The sun was beginning to rise before him, illuminating the couple of tents ahead. Hosea finally eased up on Silver Dollar. He could feel the horse’s tense muscles release as they came to a stop,

“Dutch!” 

Hosea yelled, not caring what time it was. He hopped down from the horses back, not bothering to hitch him,

“I need everyone up right now!” Hosea exclaimed, marching into camp. Hosea was not the yelling type, but this was special circumstances. Tent flaps began to open, and Hosea didn’t need to be able to see in the dark to know who each silhouetted figure was,

“Hosea!” A booming, deep voice with no trace of sleep shot into the air belonging to an equally imposing figure, “What on earth is going on? Where’s Arthur?”

“They took him Dutch.” Hosea replied still a little out of breath from his ride. By now all of camp had gathered around them, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and trying to make sense of the scene before them,

“Who? What’re you talking about?” Dutch asked, taking a closer step to his friend. Hosea could finally make out his features. His dark eyes that matched his jet black hair. He didn’t look his usual put together self seeing as it was only 5 AM at the most. He ran a hand through his medium length hair that fell into his eyes without pomade and his chin and upper lip had a shadow of stubble. Anabel attached herself to Dutch’s side, hooking her arm into his. Everyone appeared concerned,

Hosea had finally caught his breath, and the words came flooding out, “That gang we’ve been hearing about, the ones from Mexico. They took him. They were talking about the bank heist and how Anabel used to run with ‘em!” 

“The Del Lobo’s?” Anabel’s eyes widened. Hosea pointed a finger at the young woman, a little anger behind it, “D’you know about that Dutch because I surely didn’t.”

“Yes I did.” Dutch replied in a calm tone with a hint of defensiveness.

“Well, you left us in the dark, and now poor Arthur’s in trouble.”

“This ain’t the time for blaming Mr. Mathews! What in God’s name happened?” Miss Grimshaw intervened in a raspy, nagging voice. She had been with the gang for about 4 years, and although she was Hosea’s age, she looked older from heavy lead makeup and opium use. She considered herself a mother to all, but the gang saw her as more of a drill Sergeant.

“Arthur and I settled in for the night, but before heading to sleep he said he was going to go look for some tobacco he thought he had seen up the way. Next thing I knew, his horse was spooked and running past camp without him, so I went looking and ran into that gang! They had him all tied up, and then their sick leader stabbed him right in front of me! They god damn stabbed him Dutch.” Hosea shook his head at the ground, hands on his hips. He was panting with anger,

“They did what?” Dutch’s words were sharp and instantly full of rage. He ripped his arm away from Anabel, taking another strong step in Hosea’s direction. An older man the gang called Uncle stood still, nursing a full beer. Dutch had recently picked him up coming down through Kansas as the gang escaped the law after the heist. 

John, only 14 but a promising outlaw, silently ran back to his tent unnoticed. He had hazel eyes with long dark hair. It was obvious he tried to wear it like Dutch, but without the flair and charm. 

When the gang took him in off the streets in Illinois he was about to be hanged for thieving. Dutch saved his life, and he owed these people so much for accepting him. In the two short years he had been with them, he had learned how to read and hunt from mostly Dutch and Hosea, which he knew was important, but he learned his sharp shooting from Arthur. To him, going out and shooting targets with Arthur was the best time of his life. Arthur had the best eyes in the gang, and he took so much of his own time teaching young John to be just as good as he was. 

Arthur was a brother to John and his best friend, and the thought of someone hurting him sent a rage through John like no one could imagine.

“Hosea,” The sweet voice of Bessie came through. She grabbed Hosea’s hand pulling him closer to a chair, “Sit down love you don’t look well.” 

“That’s because I’m not.” Hosea pulled away from her, careful not to be rough, “I can’t stand thinking about him dying in some strange camp! Getting kicked around and smacked.”

“Me too.” Bessie agreed, sitting in the chair herself, head downcast. Her light brown hair fell forward covering her face as she wrung her hands,

“Jesus Christ Dutch, they said we got three days to get them $5,000 and hand over Anabel. They’re letting him bleed out Dutch, I’d say we got less time than that.” Hosea watched Dutch intently,

“That’s impossible.” Dutch hissed pacing back and forth in front of Hosea. He flipped a small hand knife in his fingers, thinking. Dutch had done some pretty bad things in his time, but nothing that ever warranted a kidnapping,

“Well we better make it possible, or at least come up with something. We can’t just leave him.” Hosea shot back.

Dutch stopped in his tracks, stabbing his knife into a barrel nearby. He glared at Hosea, “I’m not leaving him. He is like my son. The fact you even think I would do that is painful Hosea.”

Hosea crossed his arms, giving Dutch an apologetic look. Bessie rubbed his lower back from where she sat,

“I know Miguel. You show up at his camp and he’ll take the money, me, and then he’ll kill Arthur right in front of you and put a bullet between your eyes too. He’s a disgusting man, that’s why I left.” Anabel interjected. 

Her heritage was a mystery to most of the gang, but she had confided in Dutch, telling him of her mother in Mexico and how war had destroyed their village, and drove her mother to suicide. All she knew of her father was that he was an American man who stayed in Mexico after the war until she was born. 

She escaped to the United States when she was only 19, and had no way of income other than prostitution. That was how she met Miguel, but after finding Dutch in a small pub in Cripple Creek, Colorado, she knew she could escape that life. The two had gotten into a drunken conversation, and Dutch convinced her to go back to camp with him. After a few more drinks, Anabel happily told Dutch of Miguel’s plans to rob the bank. The two had been inseparable ever since.

“Let’s go kill this son of a bitch!” John proclaimed, returning with a shotgun, fully dressed to ride. He started for the horses, but Hosea swiftly grabbed his shoulders,

“Easy John. We’re vastly outnumbered, there’s no way we can win in a gunfight.” 

John shrugged Hosea’s hands off of him, “We can’t just sit here and talk either! We gotta do something!”

Dutch approached the two, “John, you go in there firing and they won’t hesitate to kill him, and you.”

“Arthur wouldn’t hesitate to kill every single man involved if it were you.” John fired back. Hosea agreed, but said nothing,

“I’m not risking you both. You’re a brave young man, and I’m proud of you for wanting to save Arthur, but it’s too dangerous son.” Dutch held out his hand for John to hand him the gun.

John’s breath was heavy as he looked between them. In a fit of rage he threw down his gun and pushed past them,

“Where you going?” Dutch asked, ready to chase him down,

“Make’n’a fire.” John grumbled back, heading to the wood stack.

“John is right. We don’t have time to stew over this. We need a plan and fast.” Hosea said.

Dutch folded his arms, absentmindedly watching John gather the logs and violently throw them into the pit.

“Miss Grimshaw, put some coffee on!” Dutch stomped to his tent, “Hosea, Anabel, and Bessie with me!” Dutch nearly shoulder checked uncle on the way,

“‘Scuse me Dutch.” The old man apologized, the smell of alcohol on his breath. Dutch placed a hand on his shoulder,

“Sober up Uncle. I need you to keep an eye on John. I can’t have him running off and being a hero.” Dutch whispered out of earshot of John who was kindling the fire. Uncle nodded glancing over at the boy,

“Hey John, I ever tell you about the time I robbed a stagecoach with a dutchess inside?” He asked plopping down on the log next to John,

John sighed, “Many times.”

Dutch held his tent open for Hosea, Anabel, and Bessie to step in,

“You got a plan Dutch?” Bessie asked squeezing Hosea’s hand. He squeezed it back, sensing her emotions. She loved Arthur dearly. They all did,

“I’ve always got a plan.” Dutch replied. 

John watched Dutch go inside of his tent as Uncle droned on about his youth. He used a long rod to move the logs on the fire, and began coming up with ideas of his own.

— Del Lobo gang—

Arthur’s heavy eyes fluttered open. The world around him was still relatively dark with the exception of some light in the distance. Arthur’s vision was blurred and the pain coming from his side made him wish he could go back to sleep. He felt his cheek pressed to something warm and soft, and he could feel his wound oozing as his body moved up and down. He couldn’t tell if the knife was still lodged inside of him. 

Through the haze clouding his mind he realized he was laying on the back of a horse. He craned his neck to see who was in the saddle but regretted it instantly. The slight movement sent shock waves through his body and turned his stomach. He couldn’t contain the moan from his lips. He felt as though he might vomit. 

The young man who was riding the horse heard him and glanced back. He felt a pang if regret after seeing the look on Arthur’s face. He could also tell that his skin had turned unnaturally pale. He slowed his horse. The men riding behind him didn’t fail to notice,

“¿Qué estás haciendo? (What are you doing?)” A squatty man exclaimed, riding his horse next to the boy. The young man dismounted, taking the canteen attached to his horse. The sound caught the attention of the rest of the gang ahead, including Miguel. The group collectively slowed to a stop. 

Arthur couldn’t make out the features of the boy standing beside him. The boy raised the canteen to Arthur’s dry lips,

“Beber. (Drink.)” he slowly poured the liquid into Arthur’s mouth careful not to go too quickly. Arthur was happy to accept as much as he could take. Some of the water dripped onto the ground at the boy’s feet.

Miguel pulled his horse around and trotted to the boy and hostage. He pulled himself down from his horse. The boy’s body visibly tensed, but he continued allowing Arthur to drink. Miguel still maintained his menacing grin. He raised his palm in the air bringing it down on the canteen. The boy recoiled as the canteen fell to the ground. Arthur could barely make out the shimmer of the water pooling underneath him,

“El sol está saliendo. No tenemos tiempo para parar. (The suns coming up. We have no time to stop.)” he hissed at the boy.

“Se ve mal. Tal vez deberíamos dejarlo descansar por un momento. (He looks unwell. Maybe we should let him rest for a moment.)” He barely spoke above a whisper and avoided Miguel’s eyes. He found it easier to look at Arthur instead.

Arthur’s eyes were squeezed shut as he tried his best to stop his head from spinning. He continued to quietly grunt every time his pain spiked.

Miguel rolled his eyes, “Una vez que sale el sol, corremos el riesgo de que nos atrapen. reduces la velocidad de nuevo y te entierro. (Once the sun is up, we risk getting caught. You slow down again and I’ll bury you.)” He got back on his horse and pulled the reins, turning it back to head up the group. 

The boy hesitated, watching Arthur’s body quiver as he fell in and out of consciousness. He could see the blood draining from Arthur’s side onto the back of the horse he rode,

“Mueve tu trasero chico! (Move your ass boy!)” The squatty man stood his ground atop his horse until the boy pressed on,

“Lo siento amigo. (I’m sorry friend.)” the young man whispered to Arthur, and saddled up. He managed to unfurl the blanket rolled up on the side of his saddle and drape it over Arthur. The caravan began to move.

The sudden movement churned Arthur’s stomach worse than before. He knew he couldn’t stop his own body from betraying him this time. He heaved and sputtered. His body tensed with each retch which jolted the pain from his wound. 

Some of the men riding behind laughed, some of them sounded disgusted, but Arthur couldn’t hear them over the ringing in his ears, and his own heavy breathing. He felt cold, and he could no longer feel his fingers. He tried to move them, but couldn’t. The rope around his wrists had completely cut off his circulation. Part of him was glad he couldn’t feel the burn from the rope any longer. 

Arthur turned his head to look the opposite direction of where they were headed. He could see the sun rising. Despite his condition, he noted how he’d love to draw it some time. As his eyes closed and he couldn’t tell what was real and what was a dream, he whispered to himself,

“They’ll come for me.”

He drifted off with the assurance that his family would Find him, no matter what.


End file.
